• • •
MARTHA STAYED FOR a moment more in the safety of Isa’s arms, happiness welling between them. They were together, finally—no more lies, no more secrets. Too soon, the voices of the crowd intruded on their joy.
“Martha’s son?” Devorah squawked like a hen disturbed from her roost. “Not the slave’s?”
“Her father would be ashamed.”
Through the din, Safta’s cackling voice reached her. “How does it feel, my girl, to let go of that burden?”
Martha snapped her gaze to her grandmother. “You knew?”
Safta raised her brows. “Of course I knew. My son could never keep a secret from me.”
Martha lurched to her feet. “And you?” She looked at Elishiva.
Safta elbowed Elishiva, who looked sheepishly at the ground. “I saw how you loved the boy.”
Chana nodded, too. “I knew from the moment I saw the boy. He couldn’t be anyone’s but yours. I just thought everyone knew. It isn’t the kind of thing you talk about, now is it?”
Martha’s bemused gaze went to Penina, then Mary. Both looked as surprised as she. Chana had known about Zakai but hadn’t said anything? Elishiva and Safta knew what she’d done and still stood beside her? A spark of hope kindled within her. Perhaps others would be as forgiving.
Jael pushed forward. “How can this be? How did they know?”
Devorah sputtered. “Well, I didn’t know. I’ve always thought you were such a holy woman. It’s a disgrace.”
A bubble of hysteria rose in Martha’s chest. What bothered Jael and Devorah more, that Zakai was her son or that they were the last to know? But Jael’s next words brought a shot of alarm.
“We can’t let this stand, not in Bethany.”
Martha lifted her chin. Now she would take her punishment. What she had feared for seven years. She looked over the crowd to where Jesus stood silently. He watched, his face betraying no surprise, and no judgment either. She drew again on the peace he had given her, and the fear in her heart quieted.
“Did you know about this?” Jael squawked to her son. “That she was defiled by this—this . . . foreigner?”
Martha eyed Simon, wondering why he didn’t join the outrage. Isn’t this what he wanted? Her and Isa before the judgment of Bethany? Taking their punishment as they deserved? Instead, he glanced warily at Lazarus. “Don’t, Mother—”
“Don’t?” Jael’s voice rose to a higher pitch. “You are betrothed to her! This harlot.”
Simon looked alarmed. “Mother—”
“Betrothed?” Lazarus took a sharp breath, and his voice held a note of disbelief.
Martha turned to Lazarus. Didn’t he remember? “The betrothal you signed just before you—”
“Yes, of course I remember,” Lazarus answered quickly, but something in his face was wrong. What did Lazarus know that she did not?
• • •
LAZARUS COULD SEE the worry in Simon’s eyes. The wretch was right to be worried. The man had lied, believing that the only one who knew the truth was dead.
A man of understanding keeps silent.
Jael, ignoring her son’s distress, looked down her nose at Lazarus. “Your father would demand punishment.” She turned to Abel. “What punishment is enough for this pagan and this harlot?”
Lazarus’s heart beat fast. What would Isa do now? Run away again, or beg for mercy from Abel? Would he leave Martha to face her punishment alone?
Abel blinked at Jael as if he were coming out of a daze, and his eyes flicked warily to Jesus at the edge of the crowd. Finally he spoke, but his voice lacked its usual confidence. “We would be within the law to give him to the Sanhedrin for judgment. And they could have him stoned.”
Jael looked satisfied. “And what of her? Her disregard for the purity of our people?”
Abel looked uncertainly at Simon. “The law says that if an unmarried woman is with child and refuses to name the father, the punishment is stoning at the city gate. If the woman is betrothed and is found not to be a virgin, she shall suffer the same.”
Jael, mouth pursed, nodded. “And she is betrothed to my son.”
Lazarus watched Isa put Martha and Zakai behind him. The pagan didn’t look like he was going anywhere.
Abel held up his hand for quiet. “It is a difficult case.” He pulled on his beard. “She is betrothed, but her sin was while she was under the hand of her father. Now,” he went on, “if he were a Jew, he would be required to marry her, but a pagan . . .”
Lazarus waited. He knew what was coming. In a case such as this, it was always the father’s right to decide. And with Sirach gone, that responsibility fell to him alone.
Abel turned to Lazarus, frowning. “You are the head of Sirach’s household now. You shall decide both how your sister will be punished and what will happen to the pagan.”
Lazarus looked over the villagers, all gathered now watching the spectacle. This was his chance to see his sister’s misery these last seven years atoned for. His chance to see Isa pay for his sin. His gaze stopped at Jesus, watching silently. What would the Messiah want from him?
Isa—a pagan—deserved nothing less than death. Abba would have demanded it. The people of Bethany expected it. Before Lazarus had died—before he’d been brought out from the tomb by Jesus—he would have agreed. But what did he think now? Now that he had felt the Messiah’s power and seen his mercy? And now that he had been given a new life with Penina?
He stepped in front of Martha and Isa and nodded to Abel. “You judge wisely in this matter, Abel. I will decide what is right and just.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Those who worship vain idols forsake their source of mercy. But I, with resounding praise, will sacrifice to you; What I have vowed I will pay: deliverance is from the Lord.
—Jonah 2:9–10
ISA FACED LAZARUS—THE boy who had witnessed his promise to Martha and had also seen him break it. Now Lazarus was a man and held Isa’s fate in his hands. Isa deserved whatever punishment Lazarus demanded.
The past few moments had been like a dream. His son and Martha beside him. But like a dream, over too soon. He crouched down in front of Zakai and kissed his forehead, then took one last look at Martha. He didn’t want to leave her, not now when he’d just found them both. But he would do what he had to do to keep them safe.
She nodded, her mouth trembling. She knew what he couldn’t say. I love you. Take care of our son. He faced the people of Bethany. At Martha’s side stood the old grandmother, Safta, and Penina. Mary and Josiah on the other. Martha’s family that he would never know. Please, take care of Martha.
He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath as he faced Lazarus.
“You told her you’d come back to her.” Lazarus’s voice was filled with contempt and something else. . . . Was it uncertainty? “Why didn’t you?”
Lazarus raised his eyes to Jesus. The man—the Messiah—who had saved him said nothing, but the memory of the peace that Isa had felt at the edge of the Galilee gave him the strength to form the words he had to say. To find the voice he’d never had.
“I lived on the shores of the Galilee for seven years, possessed by a legion of demons.”
The crowd drew back. Shocked voices rose around him, but he couldn’t stop now. Isa raised his voice. “They held me. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what I was.” He started to tremble, his legs weakening as he remembered. “And then your God, the one God, in his mercy, had pity on me. Jesus came to me.”
The drone of voices subsided as faces turned uncertainly toward Jesus.
“They knew him,” Isa went on. “The demons. They called him son of the Most High God. He ordered them to leave me and”—he took a shaky breath—“the demons obeyed him.” He went on, the words flowing like a remembered song from his mouth. “I knew your God from the songs I sang, and I knew he was a righteous God. But I learned from this man, from this son of the Most High, that he is a merciful God. And he has shown
me, a sinful man, his mercy.”
Silence fell in the clearing. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the distant calls of the birds in the blue sky.
Isa knelt before the man who would decide his fate but hardly felt the sharp rocks digging into his battered knees. “He sent me back here, to Martha. I’ve done what he commanded, Lazarus. Now you can send me to your judges; stone me. Do whatever your law commands.” His eyes strayed to Zakai, and he clenched his jaw. “I ask only that you have mercy on your sister and Zakai.” He bowed his head to the ground. “I beg you. Let this punishment be borne by me alone.”
• • •
LAZARUS LOOKED AT the man before him. Then at Jesus, watching him along with the disciples. Isa was telling the truth, he could see it in Jesus’ face. Jesus had gone to this pagan, delivered him from demons, and sent him back to Martha. Jesus had given Isa a new life just as surely as he had raised Lazarus himself from the grave. Now Jesus waited with the rest of Bethany for Lazarus’s decision.
Whispers reached his ears.
“Demons.”
“Send him into the desert.”
“Stone him.”
He would be within the law to send him into the desert, even to call for his death. He saw Zakai, clinging to Martha’s hand, and his heart ached. Could he take away his father when he’d just found him? And Martha. She loved this man. And Isa loved them both enough to offer his life for theirs.
Lazarus’s gaze went to Simon, standing beside Jael like a statue. Lazarus had been wrong before. Very wrong. He’d almost made an irreversible mistake.
But now he knew what to do.
Lazarus raised his hands. Immediately, the crowd quieted. “When my father died, he asked me to take care of Martha.” He looked at his sister, who had raised him like her own son. “And so I thought to betroth her to this man.” He nodded to Simon. “A righteous man, a man who knew the law, who was respected. I thought I was doing what was best for my sister, what Abba would have wanted.”
Jael pulled herself up like a preening pigeon. Simon remained silent, his gaze on the ground as if he knew what was coming.
“I was wrong. He had everything—respect, wealth—but he had no honor. And I realized it almost too late. Almost.” He turned to Simon. “How long did you wait after I was dead before forging my name on the ketubah?” Lazarus asked him, his voice ringing out over the crowd.
Martha gasped. “What—but you went to him, you—”
“You were never betrothed to him.” Lazarus scowled.
“What do you mean?” Abel demanded.
“I didn’t sign the ketubah. I called off the betrothal.”
Jael harrumphed. “This can’t be true. What is he saying, Simon?”
Simon took a step back, his face hardening in stubborn pride. “She had no one. She assumed . . . and I thought . . .” He glared at the crowd. “It’s what Sirach would have wanted.”
“My father wanted what was best for Martha.”
Lazarus turned to Isa, still bowed before him.
Martha seemed to hold her breath, her eyes on Lazarus.
Lazarus spoke to Isa, but his soft voice carried over the quiet of the waiting crowd. “You would give your life for Martha and Zakai?”
Isa nodded his head in assent.
“There is no greater courage.” Lazarus laid his hand on Isa’s bent head. “And you are no longer a pagan?”
Isa spoke. “I believe in the God of Abraham. And in Jesus, his son and the Messiah.”
Certainty filled Lazarus. This time he was doing what was best for Martha. “There is no greater faith.” Lazarus pulled Isa to his feet. “If she will still have you, you have my blessing. To be a husband to Martha and a father to Zakai. And to be welcomed in our family.”
Martha muffled a sob behind her hand. A hum of shock ran through the crowd.
Abel scowled at Isa but nodded. “It is within the law.”
Lazarus lifted his gaze to Jesus, who dipped his chin in a subtle nod—like a father whose son had made the right choice. Then Lazarus leaned forward, giving Isa the kiss of peace. “I could not have given my sister to anyone who was not willing to die for her.”
• • •
MARTHA COULDN’T BELIEVE what she’d just heard. How could this be? She wasn’t betrothed to Simon? And now she was given her brother’s blessing to marry Isa? She didn’t know what to do first. Throw herself at Lazarus . . . go to Isa . . . give thanks to Jesus for bringing both her brother and Isa back to her?
Mary decided for her. Her sister fell into her arms, kissing her cheek. “Praise be to God.” Then they were all surrounding her. Mary and Zakai, Penina and Safta. All laughing and crying, pulling her to Isa.
Martha gulped air, her face wet with tears as she stood before the man she loved. A lopsided smile broke over his bruised face. He looked at his feet, as if suddenly shy with her again, like the little boy in the orchard. She stumbled forward. His arms closed around her, warm and strong, but her body still shook with sobs. Why was she crying? How could she cry when she was so happy?
Lazarus lived. Isa was hers forever. The Messiah had come.
Isa didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. His heart pounded under her cheek like a joyful song. She lifted her face to his . . . and felt a tug on her tunic. She looked down. Zakai stood beside them with a grin as wide as the sky. Isa scooped him into his arms and pressed him between them.
Zakai wrapped one brown arm around Martha’s neck and the other around Isa’s, drawing them together. “This is the best day of my whole life.”
Isa brought them even closer, cheek against cheek, beard against smooth skin. Slate-gray eyes looking into deep brown.
“Let us go to Jesus.” Isa voiced Martha’s own thought.
The crowd parted as they approached him. Martha fell to her knees, fresh tears flowing down her cheeks. She kissed the hem of his garment, washing his feet with tears. Isa knelt beside her. Zakai threw his arms around Jesus’ legs.
Jesus’ warm hands closed around hers, and he pulled her up to stand in front of him. “Martha, your brother lives.” Jesus smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Don’t you think it’s time to get him something to eat?”
Something to eat? Of course, they all needed food, and she was suddenly hungrier than she’d been in weeks. “Yes, Lord.”
She would. She would make a feast like Bethany had never seen. For Jesus and Lazarus. For Isa. Where she would get the food, she didn’t know. The Lord would surely provide. And so would some of her friends in Bethany.
Lazarus raised his voice. “Come, everyone, join us for a feast! The Messiah has come!”
A shout went up among the men and women. They surrounded Jesus and the disciples, praising and singing. Martha caught sight of Jael and Simon slinking up the path with Tobias and Devorah close behind. Sorrow dulled her joy for a moment. How could they see what Jesus had done and not believe? Then she was surrounded by a tide of rejoicing villagers, rushing through the valley like a spring flood.
“Alleluia! Alleluia!”
“The Messiah has come. Glory be to God, the Most High.”
Jesus and the disciples climbed the path out of the valley. Lazarus and Penina followed, with Mary and Josiah beside them. Simcha scooped up a smiling Safta and carried her through the crowd. The rest of Bethany eddied around Martha and Isa as they stood with Zakai between them.
Martha took Zakai’s small hand in one of hers, and Isa took the other. They climbed the steep path together. At the top of the ridge, Martha stopped. The dark valley of the tombs lay behind them like a half-forgotten dream. Before them, in the sunlight, lay Bethany, bright and filled with rejoicing. The birds swooped and sang against the blue sky; the flowers turned their faces to the sun. Her brother, who was dead, was alive again, and the one who was lost had been found.
Jesus—the Messiah, the Holy One of God—had come, and he had given them all a new life.
Epilogue
There are also many oth
er things that Jesus did, but if these were to be described individually, I do not think the whole world would contain the books that would be written.
—John 21:25
MARTHA CAUGHT MARY’S eye as her sister poured another cup of wine for Lazarus. Mary smiled and moved around the table, the brass bangles on her wrist tinkling like bells.
Martha hadn’t made the meal, and she hadn’t immersed the vessels. She hadn’t ground the wheat or roasted the lamb on the spit. She didn’t join the women as they served warm bread and vegetables cooked in olive oil and garlic. She’d even given her recipe for cumin sauce to Chana, and now the whole of Bethany would know her secret. She dipped her bread in the savory sauce and tasted. Almost as good as hers.
The sun was low on the horizon, casting golden light on the meadow where the wedding guests sat around the table or lay on the grass in the shade of the trees.
Lazarus, at her side, was deep in conversation with the man reclining next to him. “How is it in Jerusalem, Peter?”
Peter talked around the chunk of bread in his mouth. “Dangerous. Since he rose, they look for us.” He tore off another mouthful. “Their anger grows. Especially when we speak in the Temple.”
John leaned in from beside Peter. “They threaten, but every day our numbers grow. Every day, more believe in him.”
The bread was gone again. Had these men not been fed in the month since Jesus had been crucified and then risen from the grave? She pushed herself up. She’d just run to the courtyard to get some more.
Isa’s hand on hers was warm and gentle. “Let Mary.”
She settled back. He was right. Today was the first day of her wedding feast. Her place was beside her husband. Soon the sun would set, and they would go to the marriage tent in the privacy of the orchard. Her cheeks heated, and Isa’s hand tightened on hers. Was he as impatient as she to leave the feast?
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